


One Step

by Empatheia



Category: Final Fantasy III
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 07:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18138941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empatheia/pseuds/Empatheia
Summary: I'm partway into the remake of the game and I'm loving the characters that have been given to the Warriors of Light. They haven't had much interaction thus far, though, and I'm not hopeful that it'll get any more plentiful than this, so I wanted to solidify them in my mind a bit before continuing on. I think I'll enjoy it more this way.





	One Step

**Author's Note:**

> I'm partway into the remake of the game and I'm loving the characters that have been given to the Warriors of Light. They haven't had much interaction thus far, though, and I'm not hopeful that it'll get any more plentiful than this, so I wanted to solidify them in my mind a bit before continuing on. I think I'll enjoy it more this way.

He'd thought before that his life was too quiet.

Restlessness had driven Luneth out beyond the borders of Ur, to see what could be seen and find what could be found, but he'd seen and found little for the first sixteen years of his life.

It was his birthday tomorrow, though only Arc knew that, and he couldn't be sure whether Arc would even remember what day it was with everything that was going on around them and because of them. That was fine. He didn't need a celebration, and he certainly didn't need any more gifts; he had all the adventure and wonder he could stomach, now, and then some.

He'd heard the voice of the Crystal; it still echoed in his bones. He'd spoken to and befriended an Ancient, and then lost him. He'd seen the Elder Tree of the Living Forest soaring tangled and vast above the arid sands, and rooted out the corruption at its heart, and flown home nestled safe among its branches. He'd circumnavigated the continent on the back of a chocobo; hard to believe he'd once thought it was all there was of the world. He'd sailed the iridescent seas of the timeless world below, lost track of the days, found the possibility of love and then lost that too.

Tomorrow he would be seventeen, and he felt like he'd lived as much in the year he was sixteen as he had for all the others before it put together.

What would he see from now on? What would he find, and what would he lose?

He was already tired of losing. Desch had been hard, and he still had nightmares of that wry smile vanishing in the flames, of Refia's wounded cry beside him. It was hard to say whether Aria had been better or worse; she had been stranded out of time, a thousand years late for her final journey, but he had loved her a little more. The difference mostly came out in the wash. He didn't want to lose anyone else.

It seemed so inevitable that he would, though.

He'd already seen every one of his companions on the brink of death, and while they'd managed to claw their way back every time thus far, it was only a matter of time until one of them couldn't. One of them, or two of them, or all of them.

Arc had always been frail. Luneth hadn't actually liked him much, at first, in part because of it. What was there to like about a boring, mousy child who seemed to have no interest in adventure or discovery, who primly refused to jump in mud puddles, and who could hardly run the length of the village without falling to his knees and gasping for breath? He hadn't talked much, either. Nearly a nonentity, as far as Luneth was concerned.

He remembered when that had changed, though. They'd been seven -- eight at the latest -- and slowly becoming aware of who they were. Luneth, responsible when asked to be but too wild to always be relied upon. Arc, quiet and retiring, but patient long past the point when everyone else lost theirs, and startlingly perceptive at times. Opposite corners of Ur's personality spectrum, but both loved and cherished by the village that had chosen to accept them as its own.

Luneth's curiosity had finally gotten the better of him, and he'd squatted down beside Arc where he sat in the thin shade of a young alder and asked him what he was reading. Arc had looked up, serious brown eyes and a seed-scattering of soft freckles, and explained that it was a historical account by a traveller who had seen much of the world. Much of what he'd seen no longer existed, as the text was quite old, he said, but he liked to imagine walking the streets of great cities and mapping the forests and valleys of uncharted lands. Imagining was probably all he'd ever get to do, he explained wistfully, so he at least tried to make the most of it.

As his first real adventure, Luneth took it upon himself to search the lands surrounding the village for helpful medicinal plants, after Arc showed him in the books what to look for. Having purpose lent new excitement to his wandering, and seeing paper-fragile Arc gain strength and colour over time gave it a depth of meaning beyond mere curiosity. Though opposites in so many ways, they willingly bound themselves together, trusting each other to cover their respective weaknesses.

The bullies never gave up on Arc. Luneth was away too often to be a reliable protector, and Arc had a combination of frailty and unshakable dignity that drove the weaker-hearted of Ur's children to obsession. Luneth would thrash them whenever he caught wind of it, of course, but he was just one boy, and the adults seemed to think it was only childish horseplay, not something requiring their intervention.

Luneth was grateful to the Crystal for what it had given Arc, even more so than for what it had given him. Strength. Purpose. The impetus to leave.

Arc was very strong now, brimming over with magic and determination, but he was still as mortal as he had ever been. Luneth feared losing him the most, and also thought he was the most likely to fall. It was painful to think about, but Luneth had never been much inclined to avoid pain.

Then there was Refia, fire-haired smith-daughter. It had puzzled him at first that she avoided her lessons and practice, but he had come to understand soon enough that she did not want to be _making_ weapons: she wanted to be _using_ them. She was wild, in a way entirely unlike to the way he was. Ferocious to the point of vicious, eternally furious about something she could never articulate, war-hungry and bloodthirsty. And yet, she did not lack for warmth or compassion; she yearned to save and protect as much as she did to bludgeon and destroy. If she could use her strength to some beneficial end, she did. He'd liked her immediately, and liked her more now.

She also seemed perpetually one step from death. Unlike Arc, it was not her fragility that made him fear for her, but her ferocity. He admired the way she threw herself into battle with thoughtless joy, but also wished she'd think at least a little about the potential costs. For his sake, if not her own.

Beautiful, blazing Refia. He would mourn her as fiercely as she had lived.

And finally, Ingus, who reminded him of Arc as Arc might have been if born into a stronger body. Serious, reserved, compassionate. Practical, except when bound by duty or destiny to be otherwise. Luneth didn't know much about the romantic sort of love, but even he'd been able to tell that Ingus loved Sara with the entire height and depth of his soul, and that Sara returned the feeling with equal intensity. He didn't understand what kept them apart, or why Sara had let Ingus go simply because he said he must, but he trusted Ingus to be doing the rightest thing he could find to do.

In a sense, Luneth liked him the least; he was too sober, too tame. He didn't seem to dream of adventure, only of honour and glory, which were not the same and not something Luneth could easily relate to.

All the same, he felt like a world without Ingus in it would be lesser somehow. He and Ingus weren't friends yet, but he hadn't given up on finding common ground, and it would be a frustrating tragedy if Ingus died before he could manage it. He did _want_ to be friends. He'd seen the world with Ingus, more of it than he had ever dreamed existed, and Ingus had kept him alive to do it more times than he could count. That meant something. A lot of something.

Of all of them, Luneth was least afraid for him, though. He wasn't fragile like Arc, or reckless like Refia. He was just determined to see it through, and that meant surviving until it was done. Luneth hadn't ruled out a last-minute grand sacrifice, though. Arc had told him many stories that ended like that, and they had always stuck with him, frustrating him with the desire to change the ending somehow.

He'd never forgive Ingus if he went out like that. Glory wasn't worth the loss.

It didn't occur to him to worry much about himself. He'd been falling off cliffs and picking fights with things too big for him for at least as long as his memory went back. He'd survived every stupid thing he'd done so far; it seemed like a given that he'd survive this, too, despite the massive increase in scale. Death didn't even seem to want him.

It did, however, want those he loved.

He didn't intend to hand any of them over without one hell of a fight.

**-X-**


End file.
